The Six-Triple-Eight by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones
@sarahbuckybingo Summer Prompts Fest 2023
Week 6 Prompt - “Alternate Universe”
Sergeant!Sarah Wilson / Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes | Rating: SFW
Summary: December 1944 - Sgt. Sarah Wilson arrives in the UK—Birmingham, England to be specific—to assist in setting up the facilities and living quarters for a new squadron, the 6888th aka “the Six-Triple-8th”, scheduled to begin arriving in 2 months.
(See Notes at end.)
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“Need some help with that, ma’am?”
“No thanks, soldier. I got it.”
“Okay, but the street’s wet and slippery, your footing isn’t too steady, plus that handle looks like it’s about to—“
“No, really. I…appreciate your…Oh!! OH!!!”
And before she finds herself flat on her back with her duffle and knapsack on top of her, in the large puddle of water her driver purposefully parked in (she saw the smirk when he jumped out, leaving her to unload her own bags), Sgt. Sarah Wilson is pulled away and into the arms of a soldier.
A White soldier, with dark hair, blue-grey eyes, a good-natured grin, and very strong arms.
“Oh, no. No…I’m…pardon me…" She quickly searches for the insignia denoting rank, but there are none on this uniform which looks nothing like what other soldiers she’s seen wear.
“You can let me go now,” she says evenly. “I appreciate your help.” And not knowing his rank, she quickly added “Sir.”
She tried to extract herself from the man’s arms before anyone could see the two of them, but judging by the slight quirk of his lips and that amused look in his eyes, he wasn’t in a hurry to let go.
She’d seen that look before, but in addition to that look, something was a little bit familiar about him. She felt sure she’d met him before. And maybe he was just another one of the hundreds of soldiers she’s seen since she enlisted. Maybe. But that look in his eyes. For some reason, she sensed more mischief than threat. Still—
“I don’t need this kinda trouble here,” she whispers under her breath while trying to avoid being pulled any closer. “I just want to do my job and get back to—“
He makes sure her feet are under her before releasing her, and he takes a small step back as she straightens her uniform, adjusting her jacket collar and making sure her cap wasn’t askew.
“Thank you. I just got here and would’ve ended up looking like a…a wet hen in front of my C.O.”
“No problem. I was just tryin’ ta give you a hand there. Sorry ya just got here and already ya wanna leave…Sergeant.”
(This place may be named Birmingham, but he’s definitely a Yankee. Wait—)
“You…you heard that? I didn’t mean to—“
“You were saying that you wanted to leave.”
“I’m so sorry! I tend to talk to myself. Didn’t realize I was that loud.”
“No, it’s not that. It wasn’t loud. It was nice. Your voice is really nice. It’s just my hearing is…my senses are…I’m a sniper. Let’s just say I got good eyes and ears.”
“Well, really…thank you for your help…um…”
“Barnes,” he says, offering his hand. “Sergeant James Barnes, Special Operations. You can call me Bu—“
“Sergeant Barnes,” she addresses him and shakes his hand.
He holds onto her hand for a few seconds longer before letting go, and to her surprise, for a few seconds longer she lets him.
“Its a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sergeant Sarah Wilson, Six-Triple 8 Postal Delivery Battalion.”
“Say, you’re with that new all-women unit coming in to deal with the mail? The troops have been dying to get mail. It’s rough being over here as it is, especially with Christmas coming soon. Not hearing from home, a fella can feel pretty low.“
“No mail, low morale.”
“You got that right, sister. I mean, yes ma’am.”
“No mail, low morale is our motto.
I was told that at least a million pieces of Mail are backlogged ‘cause it’s coming in so fast, and a lot of it is just addressed to a name. Sometimes it’s a last name or even just a first name. On top of that, troops are just moved around so quickly that the mail can’t catch up with them. We’re going to be working 24/7 trying to figure out who these letters and packages are meant for and where the recipients are presently stationed.
And we have to make sure letters get back to families whose sons aren’t coming back home.”
“So…where’re they setting you all up?”
“I’m here to do some preliminary work at the site of an abandoned school where we’ll be living and working. They had to make sure there were quarters for Colored women. Had it been a few of us, they’ve put up a tent just outside of the warehouse.
Anyway. We’ve got our work cut out for us and we’ll be ready to go when we all get here.”
“If you need help finding anybody, if you need anything, just ask. Now…” he lifts her bags and steps aside. “lead the way.”
“As I said, Sergeant, I can take my own bags. It’s just down the road a piece. The driver said he had to get the jeep back to London or he’d’ve taken me out to the…look, It’s really not that far. Hey! Wait!” She runs after him, trying to avoid the puddles in the street. “Come back!”
“No ma’am. I insist. My Ma didn’t raise a bum that’d let a lovely lady like you—“
“Sergeant, please! People can hear and see you—“
“You and your squad are going to be doing us all a big favor,” he says, emphatically, slowing and finally stopping. “I mean, everybody here’s got people back home who care about them. I got a Ma and little sister in Brooklyn and they started writing me letters almost the day I shipped out. I been moved around a lot lately, and I know their letters and packages haven’t all gotten to me. Especially anything from Ma. She thinks all she has to do is write Jamie on the envelope, and the Army just knows who or where I am!”
“Jamie?”
He looks down, smiles to himself, shaking his head, and Sarah knows exactly why her job is important for the war effort.
“That’s what she…it’s James.” He looks back up and into her eyes. “You can say I’m selfish, Sargent Wilson, but I’d owe ya the Moon if you found something in that warehouse that my family sent to me.
Tell ya what, to show my appreciation in advance, there's a nice little pub here. Two world wars and they’re still in business. I hope I’m not being too forward, but, I’d like to take you out to dinner. Or, at least let a guy buy you a drink…or a cuppa coffee maybe sometime…if you’d like, that is.”
There’s an interesting mixture of confidence and charm with a little touch of bashfulness that almost catches her off guard.
“Sergeant Barnes, your dinner offer is kind, but…I’m sure you know that it might not be such a good idea you and I, socializing. After all, we’re—“
“We’re the same rank, on the same team, fighting the same enemy, Sergeant. If you’re worried about anybody having a problem ‘cause we’re…look, I’ve ve had drinks at that pub with all kinds o’ soldiers from all kinds of units, and nobody’s said a thing.
Well…except a Corporal one time.”
He glared off into the distance, and Sarah saw his eyes slightly narrow as if he was remembering something. He started walking again. Then he stopped and looked at her.
“The guy was a louse. A bigot, and a bully,” he continued. “It’s a shame what happened to his nose. And his teeth. My hand healed up pretty quick, though.
Nobody starts trouble when I show up at the pub with my friends.
Whaddaya say? By the way, I’m not expecting anything from you except your company, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t want you to think I’m some kinda creep or something. I’d really like to take you out to dinner.”
Sarah looked at the sniper with the sharp, blue eyes standing in front of her, holding her dufflebag and knapsack like he was holding someone’s precious possesions. And looking at her like he wanted her to believe what he was saying.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t eaten in a Mess Hall with a fellow soldier, but it was the Colored Mess Hall, with a Negro officer, not a public establishment with a White Sergeant.
There was something about this Sergeant, though, that made her feel like he was kind and could definitely handle any trouble that could possibly arise.
“Friends, huh? Okay, Sergeant.” She started walking. “I’ll think about it.”
He fought the urge to comment about her legs, but he did enjoy watching her walk away for a few steps before he began to follow her.
“Swell! Say, do you like music? Some o’ the guys are having a Christmas show…”
Out of the corner of her eye, the smile she saw that lit up his face was a little bit like he’d hit a jackpot, and a little bit like he was relieved she’d agree.
She almost laughed out loud at his exuberance, but still kept her demeanor professional in case eyes were on them.
Honking horns and shouting drew her attention to where she saw a small convoy of jeeps arrive.
The man driving the first jeep was dressed like Santa Claus and he had a bushy dark mustache over the phony white beard on his chin. He was smoking a cigar, and on top of his Santa hat was a bowler.
“Ho-ho-ho!!” He shouts as the other men laugh and join in.
The rest of the men were quite an interesting group: including one colored, one Asian, one man was wearing a cravat and a beret. They were all armed to the teeth, but they had a tree and packages, along with some baskets and bags of what looked like food and what seemed to be a small keg, and they looked vaguely familiar except one man, who was absolutely familiar.
Even from where she was she could see he was a little taller than Sergeant Barnes (who is a bit taller than her) and though he was muscular, he wasn’t burly. Physically, he was almost perfect in his blue uniform with red and white stripes and a star on the chest.
The man looks over at her and the Sergeant, smiles, and gives a wave. She’d seen him—all of them—in the newsreels back home.
(And he’s carrying a…)
“Excuse me, Sergeant, but…is—?”
“That’s my friend Steve,” he says waving back, “and that’s his squadron. We’re called The Howling Commandos.”
She looks back at the man holding her duffle and knapsack, and it dawns on her that she has seen him before. He’s Sargent Bucky Barnes.
“Come on,” he laughs, heading over to the group of boisterous soldiers, and carrying her bags with him. “I’ll introduce you to the fellas.”
She rushes to keep up and makes sure she doesn’t whisper aloud, thinking:
(Oh, Lord…what am I getting myself into over here? And wait ‘til Mama and Daddy hear that I met Gabe Jones!)
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SarahBucky Summer Prompt Fest 2023
Week 1: “Cookout” - Wilson Cookout Playlist
Week 3: “Cass & AJ Wilson” - Formal Introduction
Week 5: “Beat the Heat” - 7th Inning Stretch
Week 6: “Alternate Universe” - The Six Triple-8
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NOTES:
This quick little ficlet was inspired by the real-life 6888th Central Postal Delivery Squadron, an all woman, predominantly Black (with at least one Puerto Rican and a Mexican woman) squadron assembled to handle the enormous backlog of mail sent to the American troops in the European Theater during World War 2.
Images in my little moodboard are from their website and I’m not using them for profit, just inspiration and, yes, educational purposes because these women were real and heroes.
Please know that I used the words “Colored” and “Negro” on purpose as this story is set in the 1940s.
They are NOT pejoratives. They fell out of favor and were replaced by “Black” (at one time an insult, later embraced and owned by us and capitalized) and then “African/Afro-American”.
Sidenote, Kerry Washington will be starring in and Executive Producing a movie telling the Six Triple Eights’s story, and they’ll be back in production as soon as the AMPTP comes to their senses and comes correct by negotiating with the Writers Guild and the Screen Actors Guild. (#union strong.)
Thanks for reading!!
Also posted on the AO3. <—A bit more fleshed out!
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